“I mean, we can play off the fact that you didn’t kiss me back as you being in shock from seeing them together for the first time . . . but I don’t think Paul will buy it a second time. So, we need to get to Metta’s before they do. If we aren’t there, they’re going to know that whole thing back there was a sham.”
She just blinks. “And what exactly was it then?”
“I thought we already went over this. That was me saving your ass and letting your ex know he isn’t the only one who’s moved on to better.”
Her smile is incredulous, but she slowly shakes her head as if she’s still trying to comprehend the last ten minutes. “I don’t understand. Why?”
There is so much confusion laced in that last word that I just stare at her and wonder when was the last time she’d been treated right.
“Because there are nice guys out there, Blakely. Guys who step in and do the right thing. Ones who treat the woman right even when she isn’t theirs. Apparently, you haven’t met them before, but I know for a fact they do exist.”
She opens her mouth and closes it. Her cheeks flush, and her eyes well with tears that she blinks away just as quickly as they appear.
There’s a moment—the briefest of seconds—when that wall of hers slips and her vulnerability surfaces. It’s beautiful and fleeting and makes me want to get that smile back on her lips.
I point to the awning of the restaurant and shrug. “Go with me or leave. It’s your choice. Either way, I’m going to Metta’s because one, the appetizers are killer, and two, I don’t know what the circumstances are between the two of you, but he’s an asshole and deserves nothing less than the jealousy he’ll feel when he sees you laughing despite him.”
Blakely
Our drinks are served, and I’m still trying to process how in the hell I went from a shitty meeting with Heather to an unexpected run-in with Paul and his new plaything to sitting across from Slade, the man I ghosted the other night at the bar.
The man who took it upon himself to save me from that awkward conversation I probably would have walked away from, no doubt feeling shitty about myself. Instead, Paul is probably wondering what in the hell happened to his wife and who in the hell this Slade guy is.
I’m kind of wondering the same things myself.
I glance over to where Paul and Barbie are sitting across the small dining room, engrossed in their overt public display of affection, before looking back.
“She’ll never stay with him if it’s any consolation.” Slade’s words are as blunt as his stare is inquisitive.
“Why do you say that?” I ask, still trying to comprehend that our connection at the bar wasn’t one-sided or made up by a hard-up older woman (me) desperate for attention.
“Because I know her type. She would have jumped me on the sidewalk if I’d given her an inkling I was interested.”
“Such arrogance,” I say teasingly because there’s an ease with Slade that I can’t put my finger on. A way that makes me feel comfortable when I should be mortified by everything he knows about me thus far, none of which casts me in a favorable light.
“Ah, but is it arrogance if it’s true?” He takes a sip of his beer. “What’s the story between the two of you anyway?”
“We met in college. Dated and got engaged. He moved out here for a job, and I followed.” I shrug. “We had what I thought was a normal marriage until we didn’t. He told me he was unhappy and wanted out . . . that out was sleeping with his receptionist. Apparently Barbie’s job description entailed a whole lot more than just filing papers and answering phones.”
“Were you devastated?”
I purse my lips in thought. “Yes and no. I thought what we had was how it was supposed to be . . . but when I was forced to sit back and look at it, I realized we were just going through the motions, too scared to admit it was over long before then.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier to swallow,” he murmurs.
“It still hurt. I still felt like a failure. And seeing them today was like a punch in the gut.” I stare at my drink, a bittersweet smile on my lips. “I had always wanted kids, but he always pushed them off . . . so to hear that he wants them now after I gave them up for him was a bit jarring.”
“No one likes to see something they’ve put so much effort into fail.”
“True, but I will say that maybe it was for the best. I lost a part of myself, and now, it’s my job to find her again.” I laugh softly. “Hell, I’m not sure if it’s worse knowing my husband is about to marry a woman who I don’t think will stick around or if I should take slight joy in the fact that, in time, Karma will most likely do her thing and return the favor.”
He looks at me above the rim of his glass and holds my gaze. “Maybe a bit of both.”
I shake my head, not liking that I’m sitting in a nice restaurant with a handsome man, who unexpectedly helped me have a little tit for tat moment with my ex, and all we’re talking about is me and Paul and Barbie.
“I appreciate you humoring me with all of this,” I say, “but what about you? I know nothing about the man who just rescued me from making an idiot out of myself.” I angle my head to the side and stare at him.
“Yes, you do. You know I like the mountains, have a mom who I love madly but who needs to end her trip out here soon because she’s a busybody, and . . . and I believe in second chances for women who
